


1815

by serpentknife



Series: Dragonverse [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragons, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Original Character(s), War of 1812, shape shifting dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentknife/pseuds/serpentknife
Summary: Side story of Descent. During the War of 1812, Captain Samuel Laurens of the Royal Navy has an encounter with the dragon America that will irrevocably change his life.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Series: Dragonverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985773
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. The Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Samuel Laurens & HMS Thorne: fictional; while the remainder of the ships and the siege are based on an actual battle during the War of 1812.

To Captain Samuel Laurens of the _HMS Thorne_ , his orders were simple. They were to attack under the cover of darkness, off the coast of the southern United States. The fleet was to provide reinforcements to British forces already attacking Louisiana. They- being members of the Royal Navy- against a vastly outnumbered American force staged at a small fort called Fort St. Phillip outside of New Orleans.

He knew the mettle of his men- they had sailed months ago from Bermuda, participated in a somewhat successful siege of Baltimore, and now found themselves along the coast to prove themselves yet again in a melee. Nothing notable had been accomplished in his mind, but they had been in good spirits: the reports were favorable, the weather ordinary. From where he stood on the deck of his ship, Laurens could make out the signal fires from Fort St. Philip. The Americans had spotted them. Not that it would do much good, all things considered. The British forces were battle tested, and prepared to put this unremarkable fort to the flames and continue up the Mississippi River unchecked.

“OFF THE PROW!” called the first mate from the anterior side of the ship. Men began to rush, and Laurens stalked from where he stood poised at the wheel, confused. The Americans hadn’t deployed ships; why the call of warning? Then, he saw what drew the mate’s attention. From the fort, it flew low over the water. Wings easily spanning a Sloop of War, they beat out a tandem that aided its furious speed.

_Saints preserve us._

Approaching the surprised Royal Navy, the red dragon fast approaching let out a ferocious roar, to which Samuel was utterly unprepared to hear. Even its bellow cast a spell over the crew, the men frozen in momentary fear, as all hearts fell in despair of what was to happen to them. The _HMS Thorne_ lay in its direct path, and Captain Samuel Laurens could see the golden-red gleaming in the back of its throat. He yelled, knowing it futile, “DUCK!”

Flames engulfed the _Thorne_ as the creature passed, several men diving off the now immersed ship. The red dragon did not stop to sustain fire, and Laurens could see tactically why. The beast’s objective was to take out as many ships as possible, in the quickest speed accomplishable. The fires on the _Thorne_ would distract long enough to allow the beasts’ fellows enough time to-

The fort! In the engulfing chaos, he had forgotten the bloody fort! Yelling above the roar of the flame to the remaining Sailors still stationed on the ship, he bellowed, “TRAIN YOUR FIRE ON THE FORT!”

Fort St. Philip returned the favor. A cannon struck into the nearby _HMS Thistle_ , who was doing its best to aid her sister ship’s defense. Casting a look over his shoulder, Samuel could see, from a distance, the bomb vessels aflame as well.

The dragon was distracted. They could still better their enemy. Men began to put out the flames, while others returned to their stations. The naval captain drew his sword, bellowing: “RETURN FIRE!” The _HMS Thorne_ began pounding the fort with cannons in earnest, renewing hope in Laurens’ breast that perhaps, while damaged, they could survive-

A fierce roar recalled to him why this would not be. The dragon, having successfully destroyed the bombers, had returned to engage the two sloops. But Samuel would not be so easily taken down. As the dragon approached, low to the waves, did he yell at a nearby gunner: “POUND THE BEAST!”

It was madness, but then, Captain Samuel Laurens had a reputation of taking gambles. And he was to be proven right. One of the cannon’s, trained on the dragon, successfully flew at the beast’s nose. In a futile move, perhaps to avoid losing a beating to the face, the dragon righted upwards to take the shot straight in the chest. It let out an angered roar as the impact collided with its breast, sending it to sink under the waves directly starboard to the _Thorne._ The remaining crew let out hollers of triumph, seeing the monster sink beneath the waves.

Laurens’ victory was short lived. For at seeing their Nation fall, did Fort St. Philips began to pound away at earnest at the _HMS Thistle_. The other sloop, sensing the opportunity to disengage before it too became a victim of their wrath, began to sail away from the chaos. The _Thorne_ , still struggling in the water with the dragon’s initial wrath, listed, as a torn sail flapped ominously in the dying breeze.

But suddenly from the waves rose the red dragon. It shrieked in fury, grabbing the front of the ship with its claws, the vessel beginning to dip with its weight as it pulled the bow of the ship to itself, down to the water. Brave men of the Royal Navy, instead of shirking duty, responded in honor, firing their weapons in earnest. This was akin to bees stinging a bear, as the dragon let out another call of rage. Like a snake, it began to whip its head as it dragged itself onto the ship, teeth clamping onto men, and tossing them violently in the sea.

Captain Laurens began to discharge his own pistol, aiming for the dragon’s eyes. The red beast squinted- and then let forth a breath of fire, engulfing more of the sails and mast. They began to fall to the sea, as the ship groaned with the dragon’s additional weight. Laurens sensed that the _Thorne_ was soon to make her watery grave. He scanned the deck, looking in vain for his sailors. They had either been put to the flame, or had met their end in the white teeth of the red monster. The giant reptile’s eyes scanned the ship, and then locked on the captain. It let out a low growl, and Samuel could see the smoke between its teeth.

Laurens threw away his pistol, now empty of shot. His hand went to his side, where his sword was belted. He drew it forth, holding it defensively, as his enemy’s eyes locked onto the blade. The dragon’s mouth was opening to reveal red-gold flame. In despair, he screamed, “FIGHT ME AS A MAN, COWARD!”

The dragon’s mouth was halfway open, and the naval captain could see the red gold, indicating it was prepared to flame. But just as he began to make his final prayers did the creature’s mouth slam shut like a sea locker. The beast’s eyes, blue as the Bermuda sea from which he had sailed, fixated on him. Tense minutes passed, as dragon and human stared each other. And suddenly… the monster was shrinking. Rapidly. Laurens gaped in amazement as the red behemoth morphed into the form of a man.

Or a boy. The lad couldn’t have looked older than 18. Wheat blonde hair tied back in a plait like his own, skin a bronzed tan, and striking cerulean eyes. He was dressed in a fine blue American sailor’s uniform. One could, for a moment, forget that this was a beast of war, but instead a junior officer, much like the ones employed on Laurens’ ship.

But there were some glaring differences. Mounted on his head, like the Great Deceiver, was a pair of red horns, red as the coat of an infantryman. The pupils were slitted, like a snake’s. The ears were red fins, like the fins of a fish. And this young officer’s mouth was bared open, revealing that his upper and lower canine teeth were fanged.

Raising his hand to reveal sharp nails, the beast gave an inhuman roar from his human throat. Laurens raised his sword in answer. The boy charged! A furious speed, down the deck of the ship, flames whipping past. He was so fast, but Samuel was not to slack, either. As soon as he was close enough, he made an upwards swing, to which the dragon ducked, and rammed his head into his stomach, like a bull. Thankfully, it was the front of his horns and not the pointed tips that impacted him, but the force sent him sailing into the Captain’s quarters. His back shattered the wood as his body was tossed into the room.

While dazed, he maintained the grip of his sword, lying in wait. The young man in blue reappeared in his vision again, leaping down at him with his nails pointed towards his abdomen. But Captain Laurens was prepared. As soon as the young man was on top of him, he struck. With a vicious thrust, he sent the sword straight into the dragon’s right pectoral, and through his back. The boy sat above him, gasping, as blood spilled from the blade. His eyes locked into Lauren’s hazel own, and narrowed. With a wave of his hand, he backhanded Laurens into the furthest wall of the quarters, where he landed, sideways, on his arm.

A shock ran up the length of the bone, and the navel captain knew it to be broken. Hunched over his now limp sword arm, he was at the final mercy of the monster. He cast his gaze up from the floor, eyes glazed in pain from being thrown, his arm , the madness of it all.

The dragon’s hands were on the weapon, and he was pulling it out of his front. The young American let out a fierce shriek of pain, but with a final yank, the blade was removed. The sword dripping with his own blood, the creature held it naturally, suggesting comfortability with the art of the sword. The slitted pupils once again found a target in Samuel Laurens, and his teeth bared to reveal those pointed fangs.

Laurens felt his stomach drop, as the dragon moved in, closer. The young man reached down to the front of his coat, and the naval captain felt the pointed fingernails scrape against his breastbone as they firmly gripped the wool cloth. He was dragged up against the wall, and then held against it, eyes forced to stare into the merciless blue.

“That really fucking hurt,” hissed the dragon.

Laurens spat at his face, blood mixing with spit. “For my men!” The liquid flicked onto the tanned face, which morphed into a snarl. With an enraged roar, the boy slammed him against the wall, shattering the wood. Samuel would have flown through it, had the red horned menace not maintained his death grip on his navy jacket. Instead, he was sufficiently stunned. Pain lashed through his broken arm, and he saw spots, as the room began to dizzily swirl. His hazel eyes locked onto his enemy’s sharp teeth, seeing their pearly whites. If he were to die, it would be by the sword, not by this monster’s mouth.

“Give me…” he choked, “an officer’s death….”

“You’ll get what I give you,” snapped the dragon in response, leaning in close, “Any last words?”

And in that moment, Laurens eyes met with the boy’s own. Those blue eyes, blue as a January sky, brought him back home to London. These were the same bright, blue eyes as Catherine. His dear, beloved Catherine. Oh, how he loved her. Fair of hair, cream pale skin, and those stunning blue eyes. And now…he saw her in those eyes: instead of this boy-monster. Now he saw her eyes staring at him, blue as this, and dreamily, he said now, what he couldn’t say then:

“You’re…beautiful.”

Catherine’s blue eyes flew open in surprise, a stunned look across her face. The cerulean eyes seem to stare into his in a question, but he was in dying agony, and left with nothing else to say.

Then, the room began to spin, the pain diminished, and he knew darkness.

_Samuel had the strangest dream._

_He felt strong arms lift his broken body, as if his weight were nothing, and carry him away from the fiery heat. Within moments the arms were the firm grasp of something like a vice: a huge hand, grabbing on his body and carrying him away, up, up, up._

_In his delirium he thought he could feel the wind on his cheek, but this was madness. Or was he ascending to heaven? Dear Catherine, do not mourn me, he thought. Or perhaps do. I will look down on you from above, and my love will be there for you, always._

_He could hear perhaps the sounds of sails whipping in the breeze, but perhaps it wasn’t. It sounded like the beating of wings. But then, what could make such a loud sound, far greater than any bird?_

_Again, Samuel dreamed. This time he heard voices._

_“He’s getting worse,” a male voice spoke. There was a nervous twitch in his voice. “Pray, thou tellest me, what should I do?”_

_“He has been severely wounded,” a female, heavily accented, replied. “The arm alone can mend in a few months’ time, on its own, but his internal wounds are too great. He will not survive without…”_

_“Without what?”_

_“Your blood,” came the female voice. It sounded vaguely French, Samuel thought, mixed with something else._

_“My blood?” replied the male, voice laced in curiosity. “But… I’ve never heard of a dragon’s blood in a human. England never…”_

_“Because it is a secret passed to me from my country. The English would not know of such a thing,” the woman replied. She said some more, but Samuel could not make out most of the language past a word sounding like, “Huduu.”_

_“What will it do?”_

_“Heal the body. Perhaps give him some enhancements. I only know of it; I have never seen it done. Nor will I be present, should you do this. To do it, you do it alone. I practice white magic. I will not be a part of something that could anger the spirits.”_

_“I understand.”_

_Samuel could hear the passing of coin, and the footsteps indicating someone had left the room. Then he heard heavier footsteps approach the side of where he lay. A few short breaths were inhaled audibly and exhaled, and Samuel wondered if this vision were to end._

_“Well, here goes nothing.” came the muttered response. Samuel felt in his left arm, the arm that had not been mangled, a sharp pain, like a sewing needle piercing into his forearm. Despite still being in a dream, he heard himself give an audible whimper._

_“I’m sorry,” came the reply. “This should help.”_

_Then, a curious warm sensation began to pump into his arm. First it was warm, and he felt himself relax...but then, like tea boiling, it became hotter, and hotter, until he began to thrash with pain. The liquid that was pumping into his arm was fire, liquid fire!_

_A hand held down his chest, and he moaned audibly, a brief flash of vision revealing blue cerulean eyes staring down into his own in concern._

_Then darkness once more._

Captain Samuel Laurens woke with a gasp, and then a sigh of bruised pain, as he sunk back down into the pillows keeping his upper body steady. _Where am I?_ he thought. The man scanned his surroundings.

He was in a large room with sparse decorations, save a small table with a vase in it near his bed with an accompanying chair. The vase had some peonies in it, which Laurens was not entirely sure why there were there. There was little art, and no sense that someone would care to decorate. On the floor, which he could barely see, was an old rug.

His bed was comfortable, and for a moment, he felt the need to simply sink back and rest, given that his body ached, and his right arm radiated with a dull throb of pain. But then, a sudden memory of the battle he had participated in came crashing down on him in memory, and he began to move, in agony, in the bed, trying to rise to his feet. The _Thorne_! His ship! How was he alive?

Pain dominating his thoughts, he ignored the sensation…or the feeling, that someone was approaching the room. But then he froze, as the sensation heightened, and he heard the tell-tale footsteps of someone outside his room. “Who goes there?” he tried to say fiercely, but it came out rather weak. The door opened, to reveal no other than….

“ _You_ ,” he spat with as much loathing as he could muster.

For it was the boy. The dragon boy who had destroyed his ship. He was no longer in the garb of an American officer, rather, a simple linen shirt and brown pants with buckled shoes, nothing particularly remarkable. In his arms was a tray of what looked like assorted foods. Had Laurens not been so angered, he might have also noticed his stomach churned in hunger.

“You should be resting,” came the chiding response, which had Samuel scowl. At 30, he was clearly older than this…upstart!

 _But ah,_ a voice reminded him in his mind, _he is one of those beasts, the nations that take the forms of men and dragons. He has lived well over a century at the very least. His face may not betray him, but his eyes do not lie._

And those otherworldly eyes. Blue eyes the color of the sky, of the shimmering sea, but there was an oldness in them. Despite a cannonball to the chest, these nations rebounded and rose to fight another day. Unlike his crew. Feeling bile in his throat in memory, he flinched as the dragon approached his bedside, watching him intently. The red horned boy placed the tray down on the table, and took a seat, studying him intently.

“You really should be resting.” The lad repeated, as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “But if you’re going to sit and glare at me, you might as well eat.”

“Trying to fatten me up for your own feast?” the man spat malevolently, “I’ll not eat your food, monster!” The dragon’s nose flared, indicating he was insulted. Those inhuman eyes flashed with menace. “You shouldn’t be so rude.”

“You shouldn’t be holding me here, _boy_. You didn’t give me the death I earned.”

“You make a lot of presumptions of who is to earn death,” the American replied, a scowl on his face. “Let me guess: the captain goes down with the ship.”

“Precisely!” he spat. “If you had a shred of honor you would have given me that, you damned beast!”

Samuel was generally a good judge of men, and he could see that the repeated dehumanization had the effect he was hoping for. The boy stood poised in a rage, and Laurens saw his hands shape into claws. He anticipated the death blow. But instead, the boy’s eyes squinted at him, as he growled, his talons forming into human fists. “I have a name!” raged the dragon. “I am not a beast, nor a monster. My name is Alfred Jones, you cretin, and you shall address me as such!”

“You are a red-horned servant of Satan!” Laurens continued, as the dragon flinched. It didn’t anger the boy. Rather, Samuel judged, he had struck a nerve.

“I am most certainly not you…you….wretched human!” the dragon blustered. The boy’s face was an open book, and Laurens was perturbed to see his opponent’s eyes revealed an old sadness. “I am a soldier, just like you. I follow orders. Just like you. I read the Good Book like any man. And how many have died under my claw? Under your cannons?” His voice was becoming higher and higher pitched, and Samuel was disturbed to think he might have moved the boy to tears.

But instead, the dragon refocused his eyes on his face, fury on his face. “What is with you British men?” he spat, venomously. “Cold and heartless, the lot of you!” The boy stalked from the room, slamming the door shut in vehemence.

Strangely, Laurens felt the boy was referring to someone else.

Samuel Laurens sat in sore silence for a while, unsure of what to do. On the one hand, the death he so craved was not coming to him. On the other, escape, which was his priority, was out of reach. While he certainly was no longer on death’s door, his body still ached, and his arm was stiff.

 _I have a duty to my country_ , he thought to himself, _I must heal, gain as much intelligence on the enemy as I can, and escape._

He felt at first to reject the food, but realized it would only make him weaker, where he needed to gain strength. While it was stone cold by the time he had convinced himself it was indeed edible, he found it palatable, if a little spicy. The small shrimp in the floating soup was interesting….he had never partaken of such a dish. The bread was filling.

He rested after the handsome meal, and awoke the next day to find the dishes gone. Ah. So, his warden had returned in the night to check on him. He also noticed a chamber pot nearby the bed. Debating whether or not to use it, he decided to test his legs all the same. Groaning with effort, he found he was much more flexible, and able to slowly disengage from the bed. Placing his feet on the floor, he woozily stood, his hand balancing him against the bunk. Strangely, he felt more in tune with his balance, almost commanding his spine and legs. Some instinct was driving him, and it…. wasn’t human.

 _Smell…_ his brain said. _Smell the room. No enemies._ _Good._

His previous sense of smell was unremarkable, like most humans. Now, it was noticeably different. He could smell the old wood, the sensations of the air currents bringing dust up from the old floorboards, the scent of yesterday’s food. His hearing, likewise, was sharpened. He heard the boy pause on the staircase below-

 _Blast!_ The dragon shouldn’t know how injured or healed he was. Hastily trying to clamber back into bed, he succeeded in halfway laying across it, and groaned in pain from the soreness in his body. Defeated, he slumped on the sheets, as the door opened.

“Well, you seem a lot better,” was the crisp greeting.

“Looks are deceiving,” Laurens retorted, attempting to rise once more to at least appear presentable. He cast a look over his shoulder, which revealed the boy, in a similar outfit to the one he had seen yesterday, clucking his tongue as he regarded the somber human.

“Well, my blood did help out, that’s for sure. The mambo was right.”

“Mambo?”

“A priestess, you could say,” the boy said cryptically. Laurens scowled, recalling their previous conversation, “Witchcraft,” he said, his hazel eyes flashing with accusation, “One of the devil’s arts-“

“Don’t start that up again,” the boy interjected. The blue eyes were scanning up and down the length of Samuel’s body. “I want to ask you if you notice anything different.”

“What do you mean, different?”

“Like…I don’t know. She said you might be enhanced.”

Samuel crossed his arms, haughtily turning his head in emphasis that he would deny it all, “All I notice is that you continue to hold me prisoner-“

“I don’t get where you think you’re a prisoner,” America gestured to the room, as if persuading Laurens to look at it further, “Does this look like a jail cell to you? Come it off. “

Laurens scowled in response, “We are opposite sides of the war. Unless a piece of wood hit your thick skull and caused you amnesia, I am a British sailor. You are an American dragon. We serve opposing forces. Rather, I should say, YOU are the opposing force.”

“Well, if your country hadn’t started impressing my sailors into the godawful Royal Navy, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with!” America crossed his own arms, cocking his head. “I mean, what did you all think? We would just sit by and let Americans be forced into servitude against their will?”

“As you do to countless of trafficked men and women that come to your shores,” Laurens said with malice in his words. America’s face looked abashed, and the naval captain knew he had struck yet another nerve. “I am not one for politics,” America replied, eyes averted to the floor. The British man would not let him off so easily, and pushed himself to his full height, still seated on the bed. “An easy excuse for evil to continue, is what you are saying.” Samuel countered, pointing a finger at the young dragon’s chest.

“Enough! You didn’t answer my question. Are you enhanced? Do you notice anything different about your senses?” Alfred demanded.

Laurens was not a good liar, but he tried anyway. “Nothing more than what I could expect in captivity. Why, did your priestess give me magic powers to sprout wings?” He could see the glee on America’s face, and knew his attempt had been for naught.

“So, you do have some of my abilities. I wonder what.” America smirked. “Maybe I should try taking you up into the sky later…see if you _can_ fly.”

Laurens felt nothing but dread at the thought. “If you mean to kill me, do it now…save me from dying from a tremendous fall, you insolent brat.”

Instead of offense, America barked out a laugh, and Samuel couldn’t help but allow a little smile of his own. Humor was infectious, no matter the species “God you sound like him. You’re much taller though- you’ve got long brown hair, hazel eyes. He’s got short blonde with green eyes, y’know him?”

“Who is it that I’m supposed to… ah. You mean the dragon England?”

“Yes.” Now America pulled up a chair, and sat down, crossing one of his long legs over the other. His body posture was very relaxed, for a creature that could easily devour Samuel with one bite of his jaws, “I meant to ask you, have you seen him recently?”

Samuel blinked his eyes, honest confusion on his face. “Seen him? I think I saw him once. When I was a young lad in London. Big black beast, flying over the River Thames. I was very frightened, but my mother consoled me. She said your kind only ate bad men.” Alfred’s smile slightly dimmed, but by no means completely faded, “We don’t eat people. Yes, England’s true form is black as night, but you never saw him as a human? I mean, I would think he would be present with his Navy-“

“He is,” Samuel defended, “but remember, the Royal Navy is vast, and the Empire spans the globe. One dragon cannot be with the entirety of the British domain. I’m amazed that you were here at all. Bloody problematic for us.”

“Well, like you said, we’re only one dragon, and our respective Navies are large…well, perhaps mine is not as large as yours,” America gave a placating wink, “But without giving too much of my military’s secrets away, big things are happening in New Orleans. I’m sure you’re aware, why else were you here?”

This wasn’t false. “Were you in Baltimore as well? I did not see you there as we laid siege.”

Now America’s smile faded. “I wasn’t present. But I heard about it. Really not what I wanted to discuss. In fact, let’s not talk about war. Instead, tell me more about your life. It is very rare I talk with humans. We dragons…tend to be solitary creatures.” _Explains why you continue to talk to a prisoner_ , thought Laurens. He sighed. “My life is certainly not as interesting as yours, Mr. Jones. “

“You are using my name! My thanks. It is refreshing to hear it. Which is unfair since I do not know of yours yet.” Samuel debated using a pseudonym, but couldn’t see a reason why. _No harm in sharing that_ , Laurens thought, “Samuel Laurens.”

“Captain Samuel Laurens! That sounds like a naval name. Alright, Sam, tell me more of your days as a young human.”

“I’d rather you not call me Sam.” Samuel said with a sigh.

The two conversed for a while, Laurens detailing more of his boyhood - the story of a young lad growing up middle-class in London, with a daring tailor of a father and a wild seamstress of a mother. It was perhaps the most mundane childhood the man could imagine, but he sensed Alfred was fascinated. The dragon peppered him with questions about when he had grown into a young man. Laurens confided he had planned to go into the cobbler business, but ran away from home at age 15 to join the Navy.

“I wrote my mother afterwards. Father was furious, but she would divulge to me later he was secretly proud when I was promoted to First Officer. I didn’t buy my way into the ranks, as some of my fellows did. I earned my place. Then I earned my first command just shy of 28. Not bad for a tailor’s son.”

“Truly!” America clasped his hands over in delight, “You should write a book about it!”

Samuel scoffed, “Here are the daring adventures of a middle-class clothes boy…” America grinned, his pointed teeth ever a reminder that the two were of vastly different upbringings. Samuel felt that he earned the next question, “What of your youth?”

America waved a hand out, almost if bored, “I am over two hundred years old. My youth spanned over a century. If you really want to know the entirety of it, we shall be here all night.” Samuel gawked. “Two hundred?” he repeated.

“Officially older I’m sure, but the founding of Jamestown came about in 1607, after the initial English colonists departed from London in 1606.”

“So you were founded-found -by England when you were just a young dragon. You were raised as a subject of the King…” Samuel scratched his chin, thoughtfully, “So that would make you a citizen of the British Empire as well.”

“Former,” America muttered.

“I suppose that’s right. Well, Mr. former citizen, I assume you know how to brew a decent cup of tea. I am parched.” Samuel then internally cursed himself, suddenly realizing the boldness of his words. He was becoming far too relaxed around this beast, hospitable or no. “I mean…” America shook his head, laughing lightly, “Haven’t drank the stuff since 1773. But I haven’t forgotten how to prepare it, nor did I toss all of mine in the harbor. Now rest, and I’ll bring you some. It’s not as good as the stuff you’re accustomed to, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll stomach it.” Samuel sighed, feeling himself becoming weary. He may have been made of stronger stuff now, but part of him was still human, and the conversation and energy-level of it was taxing his liveliness. He barely made out the sound of America’s departing footsteps as he fell into a somewhat deep slumber.

The next day, Samuel had found he had slept in until the mid-afternoon. The only reason he noticed was that the window had been opened in his room, and the strength of the sun’s rays clearly indicated morning had long since passed. However, he noted that his arms no long felt as painful, just rather stiff, and that his belly and legs seemed to cooperate with his movements. Samuel slowly lowered himself to the ground, made use of the chamber pot, and quietly slunk to the partway opened door. Listening with his now sharp hearing, he could not detect movement below. This would serve him well in his escape. Granted, he knew very little of his surroundings, but he spoke English, and certainly, with enough bribery, he could make his way back to his fellows.

He crept into the hallway, and into view of a grand staircase- the sticky wet air that greeted him at the indicated the humidity of the Louisiana climate, despite the cool breeze of January. The opening room was immense- the hallway grand and old, large paintings adorning the walls. Laurens’ gaze drew to one painting, where a young child of blue eyes and red-fin ears was poised alongside a man with black horns and a leveled green gaze. Their clothing spoke of another time.

There were more paintings, of different people and times, Laurens saw as he began to step down the stairs. There were some of women- whoever they are, Laurens could only guess, and one of a particularly grim looking fellow, in a stance of command. A few more military paintings, and one where Laurens saw the artist capture America in his true form: a regal red dragon standing in front of the grim man from before, except this time, this man was raising a sword in salute to the wild looking creature.

“When you’ve lived as long as I, you tend to hoard more,” came the quiet response from the bottom of the staircase. Laurens noticeably winced, and faced down, seeing his horned captor’s gaze also on the dragon painting. “It’s funny. History makes out George a lot larger in life than he was. True, he was a great man, but I’m not sure if he would agree with the depictions made of him today. Then again, him and I didn’t always see eye to eye.”

America’s gaze flicked back to him, as Laurens stood motionless on the stairs, “We dragons can sense each other.” There was an implied warning in his voice, _trying to escape is pointless_ , is what it seemed to say. Laurens felt his shoulders slump, as there was no hiding his ability to walk any longer. He slowly stepped down the stairs, until he was looking down into the blue eyes of the dragon. Despite the dragon’s horns giving him additional height, Samuel was a few inches taller, given his eyes rose above America’s.

“I am not a dragon,” was his response.

“We’re going to find out how much you are,” America replied, sniffing the air. “No offense, but you smell terrible. I didn’t bother bringing water in- there’s a fine lake outside, and it’s not too cold for dragonhide.”

“Human skin.” Laurens complained, pointing to his own pink. America gave him a smug smile. “Like I said, we’re going to find out. I have some soap and scrubs I got in town- it’s not a far walk.”

Samuel idly looked at the opened doors, and considered his fists, and the dragon’s face- the navy captain had strength, he had fought enough men in his life to know he could soundly land a punch. But… he knew that this would not only probably backfire, but would be ungentlemanly…considering Alfred had nursed him to health. Laurens sighed in defeat, once again feeling trapped by America- held a prisoner of kindness.

The water was cold, but America was right- he could tolerate it. The boy almost fell over in glee, his fangs shining in the sun, “How refreshed you must feel! I cannot tolerate going long without a bath, not even as a child. Granted, swimming was seen as witchcraft in the old days, but as a dragon, I skirted a lot of rules. Thank the Lord, but you should have seen Reverend Phillips’ face when I rescued one of the parishioner’s stray chickens from the nearby James River…!”

As America prattled on, Samuel ducked under the water to scrub himself slightly more thoroughly. He was not so fastidious about bathing- on a ship of war, water was to be conserved, not wasted, but he privately agreed with America that the need for a daily bath was paramount to good mental conduct. Especially when outbreaks of disease ran rampant in closed quarters- even recalling the smell sent a shudder down his spine as he rose to the surface.

“You look ill- do you need to rest? Oh! I know! You must be hungry. How long since you ate my gumbo? No matter! I bet you’re famished now. Well, I have prepared us a fine meal to break your fast, so to speak. I will admit, Creole cooking has been a difficult and yet enjoyable art form for me to learn-“ Laurens, not accustomed to speaking quite so freely, finally blurted out to what he felt he needed to say, (lest he hear more about gumbo) “Why, America?” Loud mouthed as he was, America was sharp of hearing. “Pardon?” the dragon responded, ending his liturgy about cooking.

“Why am I alive? Why did you rescue me?”

“Mm.” America’s blue eyes reflected his questioning gaze back him, like a reverse of a mirror. The young dragon seemed to hesitate, but then, slowly responded, “You remind me of someone I know.” Laurens felt this answer was to deflect from the true one, but he hadn’t the heart to press it. “Who?” The dragon shook his head, a teasing smile on his smile, eyes dancing in mirth. “Nuh-uh. That’s another question. It’s my turn. My question: why did you say, what you said to me. Back on the ship.”

“What I said to you?” Now Laurens confused, waving his hands from the lake to show that America wasn’t making a lick of sense, “Calling you a damned beast? A coward?” Samuel said, trying to recall his words. The dragon developed a scowl, bristling from where he sat up on an outcropping of stone.

“I’ll not repeat them if you don’t remember,” he said haughtily, crossing his long arms and holding his head up, horns pointed back as if ignoring the other man. Laurens rolled his eyes, grabbing for a nearby towel to which to dry himself with as he stepped out from the water. When he was sure Alfred wasn’t looking, he quickly began to garb himself in the new clothes, the articles of fashion suspiciously looking like America’s own.

He began to think harder to what he could he have possibly said… and then he recalled his dying words, and to whom they had been spoken to. It was not in reference this beast! His face began to color, and he hid his expression away, lest Alfred see his discomfort. The man began to shrug on his clothing, feeling embarrassed. “I’ll have to think about it, then.” Laurens said, gritting his teeth.

“Perhaps some food will jog your memory,” America replied, crossness still apparent in his voice. The boy turned to observe Laurens, blinking his blue serpent eyes as he stared. “Your shirt’s on backwards.”

Laurens smacked his own face.

The lake adventure had taken more time than Alfred had anticipated, and Lauren’s still wasn’t moving that quickly. By the time they reached the plantation, the afternoon sun had already begun its downward slope to evening, the winter sun pressuring them both to hasten into the large enclosure.

“The dining room is to the right of the staircase. You can sit for a spell- most everything’s already pre-made. I just need to heat it.”

“I will help you,” Laurens insisted.

“Nah. No offense, but if you drop one of my spicy tomato dishes on the carpet, I really might eat you. I’ll bring you something to drink, to at least pass the time.”

 _That was more like it_ , the human thought. It had been a good amount of time since he’d had anything to enjoy, given that rationing had taken place aboard the _Thorne._ There was spare drink left over in the mess to celebrate with after the success of their mission- to imbibe on the way back to Bermuda, after they had won in New Orleans... The gladness of the moment was tarnished in reflection of the situation at hand. _This is war,_ he reminded himself. _America is a combatant, just as we were. Am I justifying for him?_

“I have whiskey, gin, beer, rum, wine of all sorts…” called the voice of Alfred from the adjacent room. Laurens had been so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed the departure of the dragon.

“Rum will be pleasant, thank you Alfred.” Laurens stiffly walked to the next room, and sat down, as America entered the room swiftly, and presented him with a sealed bottle. Samuel tried an attempt at humor, to at least his own benefit, no matter how dark it sounded. “Oh good, it’s not poisoned- still not trying to off me, are you? ”

America gave him a lipless smile. “If I wanted to, I would have done so already.”

 _This is a valid point,_ thought Laurens. “Thank you. I’ll try to remember that.” America took a pointed nail, and sliced the top of the glass, allowing the strong scent of the beverage to saturate the room. With his other hand, tipped nails gently grasping the container, he poured the golden liquid into the cup, and presented it to Laurens.

For something as simple as pouring a drink, the dragon’s movements were graceful, reminding Laurens no matter how human he looked, there was something off about him. And when the beverage was passed to his outstretched hands, and he noted the quickness in his own movements, did he recall that perhaps, there was something off about him too.

_Dragon’s blood._

He was tainted, just as this beast was.

About an hour had passed since Alfred left the room, and Laurens felt more relaxed, managing a smile as America entered with enough food to feed a small horde. He had nursed three cups to completion at the beginning of dinner, and upon the main event, had finished a fourth. He was by no means pissed completely, but with the onset of the meal, was working towards it.

Alfred poured him another glass, regarding him carefully, “So, did you enjoy the fish? I caught it myself. And no, before you ask, not with my claws. I used a net.”

Laurens sipped at the spicy rum, enjoying the taste. It was a bold beverage, and what he knew of dragons, likely to be of a good quality and age. “It was quite a handsome meal, thank you. The fish was excellent. I cannot say I’ve ever tried frogs’ legs before, but I won’t pass the opportunity if it is p...presented again,” he felt a hiccup come on, and he flushed, while America laughed. The human scowled in response.

“You aren’t drinking,” Laurens said, pointing an accusing finger.

“Am too. Well, I’m not drinking that fire water, if that’s what you’re saying.” America gave him an easy smile, “But my tastes have changed since I’ve aged. I used to not be able to stomach the stuff- but I do enjoy a light beverage.” America held up a glass of wine as to show, and gave a short toast, knocking back the last mouthful with a smack of his lips. “French.”

“Let me guess, stocked from the 1700s?”

“You are wise,” commented Alfred without rancor, pouring himself another glass. “When you’ve lived as long as me, you tend to hoard more. Later I should take you down to my cellar- I must have hundreds of bottles.”

“How did you move them all here?”

America laughed again. “They’re not all here- this is not my primary residence. One of several.” At Laurens stunned glance, the dragon shrugged, “I am a nation. I am an immortal dragon. We accrue wealth. When you live more than a human lifespan, and have powerful wings, it is not hard to make extra finances on the side. I was quite good at posting letters and packages- granted, I did occasionally ferry live cargo. One time I carried Paul Revere- “ America paused. “You’re starting to sway, Sam.”

“M’not.” Laurens responded. “N’ don’t call me Sam.”

“Probably since you started drinking on an empty stomach,” America mused. “I can carry you to bed.”

“Nonsense. I could drink a beast like you under the table.” As if to prove his point, Laurens took another swig of his glass, feeling the warmth expand in his throat, making him feel like he too could breathe fire. Which reminded him of a burning question he had wanted to ask since the onset of the meal. “I must ask, c-can…can you produce flame in human form?”

“Partially transformed I can.” Alfred smirked, showing his pointed teeth. “Would you like to see?”

The thought of America with a dragon’s head and a human body disturbed him more than it should, causing him to sober up slightly in fear. “No...no thank you. “

Alfred shrugged, placing his wine glass down. “Well, it’s my turn to ask a question. Have you remembered what you said?” Now the boy’s voice had dropped, “Because if you lie and say you don’t again, I might have to carry you up into the clouds to jog your memory some.”

 _Why was he so insistent on this?_ Laurens was mystified, but as drunk as he was, found his tongue loose. “I said that, you bloody damned beast, because you knocked me square upside the head. I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” America enquired; eyes become lidded. “A woman,” grumbled Laurens, finishing his glass. He unsteadily went for the rum bottle, splashing some of the liquid on the table. The dragon didn’t notice.

“You think I look like a woman,” the red horned lad repeated. He drummed his pointed nails on the tabletop, biting his bottom lip, looking somewhat glum.

“No! No. Your eyes are blue…”

“You ARE observant.” America interjected, sorrow chasing away to sarcasm.

“God damn it-stop interrupting! Listen. I was thinking of a woman I used to love. Catherine had blue eyes too. She rejected me. I wasn’t enough for her- a tailor’s son. She married some… lord or whatnot. It doesn’t matter. I ran off to the navy because I wanted her hand in marriage and I couldn’t handle the refusal-Damn it, why am I telling you this?”

“You’ve been drinking,” America said pointedly. He seemed to have relaxed somewhat more. “So, she’s no longer around.” He tapped his nails against the table, and let off a hum that almost sounded pleased.

The naval captain wished he was upstairs with the rum bottle, alone. “No, and now I can’t stop thinking of her, thanks to you!”

“I can help with that.” America replied. Laurens didn’t catch the sultry look being thrown his way.

“Unless you can erase memories, there is nothing you can do.”

“We dragons are very persuasive. And you said I was beautiful.” Laurens opened his mouth to argue that, once again, he had been speaking of someone else, but America continued on, not allowing him a response, “In two hundred years, I have never heard that. Not from a human... not from a dragon. It saved your life.”

Laurens barely heard half of what America said. He had begun to notice that the room was being permeated with a spicy scent. His head was starting to swim, and his clothing felt…too tight. He watched as America rose, and slowly strode over…tap…tap…tap to where he sat opposite in a high-backed chair. Samuel felt his heart begin to pound. The smell was getting stronger and stronger. He let out a short moan, seeing the horns rise from the opposing man’s head like a demon come to collect.

“Is that so?” America replied to his sound. He gave a short intake of breath, closing his blue eyes. Then he opened them, the slitted pupils locking with Lauren’s own. And the human’s muddled thoughts were becoming consumed by an urge. The officer stared at the dragon’s chest. Laurens wanted to run his claws down the front of the other’s shirt, and rip it open- to sink his fangs into the tanned flesh and taste his scent. His instincts were haywire.

America was giving him a hopeful look, as he leaned down to the human, lips barely away from touching. The dragon paused, almost if asking for an invite. The man felt himself lean forward, hazel eyes staring back. Their breaths co-mingled. With a dim awareness, Laurens realized that the youth was giving him a look reserved for… _lovers_.

And then, the reality of everything came crashing down upon him.

“I do not care for men and beasts!” hissed Laurens in disgust, taking both hands and shoving America off him. The dragon fell to the ground with a “WHUMPF!” The spicy smell that had been warping his thoughts faded away, as Alfred gave him a wounded look from the floor. “I thought…”

“I told you what I thought, you…you…!” Samuel didn’t have the means to muster an appropriate insult, so he went for the default. “You beast!” America flinched, but didn’t respond, looking hurt on the ground.

“I thought you would be different,” the dragon mumbled, sadness evident in his tone. “But you’re just more of the same. Go. And take your stupid rum with you.”

“….” Samuel did not warrant him with a response, and clumsily rose to his feet, and did just that- snatching the opened bottle, and stumbling out of the room. He would need a couple more drinks to erase what had just happened from his thoughts.

Despite casting a look at the doors that would lead to freedom, he found that he was able to clamber up to his room, and sink into the chair that was alongside his bed. He spent perhaps less than an hour drinking to forget Catherine, to forget the war, to forget how he had felt so _alive_ in Alfred’s presence, and then promptly passed out in his bed.

The next day was spent in relative silence. Samuel had not forgotten the awkward encounter, contrary to what he had hoped, and America was sullen at the rejection. The two shot each other cautious glances, but otherwise, with the exception of food, the dragon was not speaking to him. Laurens could sense the youth’s somber mood, but felt justified in ignoring him. There was nothing to say than what he had already said.

Samuel was once again hatching a plan for escape when America finally broke silence, after most of the day had passed with a plethora of awkward stares. “Laurens… I apologize.” The man gave him a curious glance, sensing mixed emotions behind the words. “You’re not sorry,” the human said, more in reflection rather than accusation.

“Not really,” America admitted, “I am sorry that I misread you. I’m not sorry for my actions, and my offer still stands, if you change your mind.”

“Not interested.”

“Well, I shall hold to that.” Alfred replied, “But I have been giving our unique situation some thought. You haven’t lashed out, despite my actions. I expected that. Instead, you’ve kept your distance- which is more than I thought you would do.”

Samuel blinked.

“Additionally…I made you into something you have no control over. Against your will. It was selfish of me. I wish I could reverse the situation, but I cannot.” America scratched his arm, the linen shift pressing against his tan skin, the action indicative as if he was expressing shame.

“You did save my life,” Laurens replied. For some odd reason, he did not want the dragon to feel sorrow, “And for that, you have my gratitude.” America gave him a hesitant smile, “I’m not entirely sure what powers you have- I doubt you can fully transform, given that you only have some blood, and aren’t a full dragon. But… in time, you will have to find out on your own the extent of your abilities.”

“On my own?”

The dragon flicked his blue eyes up to look directly into his own, “I have wronged you- it is time that I righted some of that. I can’t give you back your humanity- but I can give you your freedom. Originally, I meant to keep you as a prisoner of war- but I have reconsidered this. This is what I shall do instead: I shall return you to where you wish, given my skills and resources. You need only say where.”

Laurens stared in amazement, and blurted without thinking, “Return me to Bermuda, from whence I sailed.” Then, he realized that perhaps that it was unrealistic. “That is a considerable distance… and I doubt there are ships that can ferry me there, given the current crisis. Perhaps I must remain.”

“No,” America shook his head, “You must go. I cannot continue to remain here- I have a duty to my people. You have a duty to your country. Nor will we fly straight to the island. We shall stop along the way- I am not tireless, contrary to what propaganda humans put out about dragons. I shall fetch your uniform, a saddle will be constructed for you to ride upon, and we shall pack and depart within a fortnight.”

Laurens felt a surge of excitement, but then, apprehension. “But… are you not concerned about…?”

“Of what? Some humans manning an island? No one will expect me to be there, and I shall drop you off and be on my way.” America snorted and tossed his head, the horns jerking with the movement,

“Besides, it’s not like England’s there.”


	2. The Island

Laurens yawned himself awake, looking to see the tell-tale sign of stars as they approached Bermuda. They had been flying for days, and each passing moment he longed more and more to clamber off America, even if just to swim in the sea. But the dragon had asked for patience, stating, _just a few more miles, and you shall be on dry land._ By the dragon’s calculations, they should have arrived at the island by midnight. However, he couldn’t help but notice….towards the east, the redness that indicated the rise of the approaching sun. _We should have been on the island by now_ , he thought with slight dread. “Alfred?” he called to the wind.

 _I hear you,_ Alfred’s voice, sounding tired, resounded in his mind. The red dragon’s wings were held stiffly out. While testament to his strength and endurance, they had been flying several days from New Orleans, and the red dragon was clearly weary. _I think I shall have to approach from the other side, so that we do not arrive directly on the bay…I do not want to be greeted in the English manner._

“Neither do I,” Laurens said, worry in his belly. America was tired. Flying more would potentially run the young dragon into the ground. But in the daylight, he would be clearly visible to the fortress, the ships, and the….

Suddenly, those thoughts became a reality as he saw the Royal Navy Dockyard looming ahead in the early morning light. Alfred in his frenzied pace, had directly flown them in the waiting path of…many assorted ships, and the fortresses that guarded the bay. _Don’t panic,_ _they can’t have seen us this far away. What can they do?_ “America, you must turn….”

Suddenly, a shot rang out, and then another, making far off splashes into the clear blue sea. They were too far away to hit them, but clearly, they had been noticed and were giving off threat displays. America let out a yelp of surprise, and reared into the air, nearly throwing Laurens. If not for his riding straps affixed to his legs, he likely would have tumbled into the sea. The man held on for dear life, cursing, “Alfred, what in God’s name, they can’t hit us from here-“

But then, he could sense the looming presence which had so startled America. Sensed it, before he could even see the black dot hurling towards them, becoming bigger, and bigger. The black death himself come to battle, letting out a roar of fury.

_England!_

_YOU DARE COME HERE, BOY!?_ The dragon was yelling at America, and somehow, Laurens did not think he knew the human was privy to the conversation. The larger dragon showed his huge, black mouth. Samuel could see red-gold cooking in his throat as England prepared to flame the red dragon and his unnoticed rider. The naval captain wasn’t sure what route America would take in response, flight, or fight?

America was pleading for mercy, flying low to the sea, _I’m trying to help, god damn, don’t you seeyahhhhhhhh!_ The flames went for his wing, and the young dragon yelped, dodging the blazes. Laurens clenched his teeth as the red dragon spun away from as secondary blast of flame, as the larger black dragon pursued his prey. The ships seemed to be getting larger and larger, as the two dragons played a fiery game of tag.

“He’s driving you to the dockyard, Alfred!” Laurens called, seeing another warning shot splash closer to their front. _HE’S AWFUL!!!!_ wailed America in his mind, still trying to escape England’s wrath. This mad chase went on for several minutes, where England would flame, America would attempt to dodge, and Laurens would try not to hurl the little food he had left in his stomach.

England’s patience was quickly coming to an end, Laurens sensed. The black dragon drove down from the sky, raking his claws across America’s front. Samuel barely missed a talon, and America shoved his horned head into England, trying to ward him off. But England was not to be deterred, and he lunged for America’s neck with his jaws. Samuel knew that his luck had run out, and he was to be clamped down upon, like a flea on a dog.

 _You will not hurt Laurens!_ America yelled. The red dragon suddenly righted himself in the air, causing England to hesitate. And then, Samuel heard from Alfred, _Hold on, Sam!_ Then, without further ado, the red dragon took his right claw, and brought it to his neck, slicing off the straps of the saddle. This saved Laurens from England’s fangs…but sent him spiraling down to the sea. He would have liked to meet his end not so surprised.

“AHHHHHHH!” the man yelled, flapping his arms as his belongings, his saddle, and him hurtled down to the water. As they were at a great height, there was a great fall, but it was going faster, and faster. He spiraled in the air, briefly seeing America falling from England’s attack. From this height, he would surely not survive the impact. He squeezed his eyes, waiting for the crash to come.

But then he felt human arms embracing him, and he opened his eyes to see, “Alfred!” he yelled. The boy was mostly transformed, and his shrinking arms encircled Laurens, holding him tight as his shrinking wings flapped uselessly out, trying to keep them both from impacting the water, like a fallen angel attempting to fly. Laurens’ eyes were leaking tears from the sheer velocity of the fall. The boy turned his back in mid-air, and instead of Laurens, the dragon in human form impacted into the sea with a tremendous CRACK! Laurens felt his arms give way, and the two bobbed to the surface. Laurens gave a gasp of shock from the last 25 seconds of terror, treading water and yelling for his companion.

For Alfred was lying motionless in the water, and sinking fast. Laurens assumed he had survived, but it appeared he was unconscious. The man groaned, his legs sore from riding as he attempted to keep the young dragon afloat along with himself, as he continued to shout above the waves, “Wake up, America!”

But no sooner did water begin to slosh into his throat from his struggles in swimming, did the morning sun began to darken…or perhaps, something was blotting the sunlight. He cast a look up into the morning sky, to see the shadow that was growing over them. Soon, the waves began to tussle in earnest, as the black dragon hovered over the two, staring at them both. A dragon is not very expressive, but Samuel could see that a close look of surprise was on the muzzle of the black beast above. Green eyes, the color of jade, bore down upon them, in disbelief.

“My lord nation!” he called, in desperation, “I am Captain Samuel Laurens, of the _HMS Thorne_. I was being taken by America to report back to Bermuda, where I had initially set sail to join the campaign in Baltimore!”

 _Why?_ came the measured response in his brain. Laurens wanted to scowl, but he was sputtering water, and really, did not have time for an interrogation. “My Lord…per-haps…if we could discuss… on land!” Samuel was spitting up seawater, and trying to hold the unconscious young dragon at the same time, which was to be unsuccessful on both efforts. The young dragon suddenly sunk below the waves. “No, Alfred!”

The man quickly dove as America began to sink further into the deep. He grabbed for his hand, but then, from above, he felt large claws grasp him about his waist. He struggled, unwilling to leave Alfred to drown, especially not after the dragon had risked everything to get him here. _LET ME GO!_ he sent, and _SAVE AMERICA_. Samuel sensed surprise from the black beast. _What are you?_ came the response, and a tightening of the large talons that embraced his torso. _How can you speak to me in such a way!?_

 _He doesn’t have time!_ he snapped. Another threatening squeeze, but then, another claw dug into the water, and in it, he could see Alfred’s limp body.

 _We shall discuss this further, human._ was the reply, and the three rose into the air. Freezing cold, due to the water and the high altitude, Samuel shivered in the claws of England, but his gaze was solely on Alfred, who was pale, and still hadn’t roused. The flight to the island wasn’t fast enough, as Samuel feared the worst for the young dragon, besides repeatedly assuring himself, _He’s a nation, he won’t die, they don’t die from normal injuries._

The looming fortress fired off a shot, but this was in greeting, rather than in a threat display. England gave a roar back in response, and Samuel’s gaze turned below, where he could see his countrymen cheering. Somehow, given the last ten minutes, he felt a mix of emotions. On the one hand, he was delighted to be back on British soil. On the other, Alfred was in dire danger.

The black dragon reached what looked to be the main government building on the island, and landed, abruptly, in the street. The locals, to their credit, were not underfoot when he fell upon the earth. They must have been used to England’s frequent comings and goings. Samuel struggled in the grasp of his nation, wishing himself to be free of a dragon for at least five minutes.

Which was the next question: Why was England here in Bermuda??

 _Our conversation will continue later._ The dragon rumbled, releasing him from his grip. Samuel, drenched and exhausted, fell to his knees. A nearby posted guard approached him, seeing the uniform he wore, the epaulets indicating his rank. “Sir?”

“...Quite…alright…” he groaned, and then, felt himself being lifted to his feet. “My companion….” He cast a gaze over, to where he saw the black dragon shrinking into human form. Samuel couldn’t help but stare, having only seen England in his dragon form.

He was a shorter man, much shorter than him, and a head’s height of America. His hair was blonde, but a darker blonde, and cut short, unlike Laurens or Alfred’s plaited hair. Expressive eyebrows were over jade green eyes, which glittered with an inhuman expression. Black horns, pointed straight, stuck out of his short hair, and black head fins, like Alfred’s, struck out as ears. He was dressed in a similar red uniform to a British regular, unlike Samuel’s navy blue.

The dragon was standing, but then, he crouched alongside the limp Alfred. Samuel watched as he reached out with his hand, almost hesitantly, to grip Alfred’s chin, and turn his head side to side, almost if he was inspecting him for life. The older dragon stared for what seemed like minutes in indecision, but then, reached his arms underneath the unconscious boy, and lifted him up into his embrace. The green eyes rolled over to stare at Samuel for a moment, then, without another word, he stalked into the building with his prisoner. This left the human to follow stupidly after him into the imposing government building.

Passing human soldiers, workers, and staff, England stalked down a few halls, then made a right turn, as Laurens slowed down, allowing his nation a moment in the room. The naval captain, not seeing anyone approach, hesitated as he reached the room entranceway. He gently paced to the door, which remained open, to see what the dragon had done.

There was a bed in the center of the room, and he had lain Alfred in it. And to Laurens great shock, was stripping his linen shirt away. The dragon growled, and snapped his head in the gawking man’s direction, “Do you want him to catch cold? Help me.” Samuel approached then, himself still soaking wet, but did as his nation commanded. They removed most of the clothing to reveal the rest of America’s skin, which revealed crisscrosses of old scars from past battles along his hips, his chest, and arms. Some of them looked like slash marks from claws, indicating fights with other dragons. Samuel wondered how many were from England.

“You need to be outfitted with another uniform, human.” England said then, “You will catch cold quicker than he will. You might smell like us, but you are no nation.” Samuel made no comment. Giving a polite bow, he turned to exit, to find new clothing, and perhaps, a warm drink.

“When you are done, report back, here. We have much to discuss, you and I.” said England, in a voice that did not leave any room for misinterpretation. “My lord,” said Samuel, stiffly, giving another incline of his head, and departed the room.

An hour or so passed, whereas Samuel finally reported into the magistrate, and promised hastily to make a full report once he had been released from England’s upcoming questioning. He sighed, clutching his heated rum as he made his way back to the room where the dragons dwelled. While his nation had commanded a uniform, he thankfully had been garbed in a simple linen shirt and trousers, which made the stifling humidity bearable. Granted, this was a welcome change from being cold and wet, and he only sneezed maybe once or so. As he approached the door once again, he then hesitated, as he noticed now it was partially shut. Feeling bold, he leaned close, to observe the two, without their knowledge.

Had he not known what they were, it would look like a scene between a parent and a child. America still lay unconscious, but he was tucked under the sheets, only his bare shoulders exposed to the air. England’s hand was stroking the younger dragon’s blonde hair, much like a mother comforting a sick son. Laurens watched as the hand drifted to Alfred’s plait, where he drew his nails through the golden strands, almost like he was combing it.

Feeling awkward to interrupt, he took a step back, and then knocked, loudly. England jerked his hand back, folding it into his lap, and stiffened his shoulders, as if he was simply sitting and observing his prisoner. “Come in.” he demanded. Samuel walked across the room, and took the seat opposite of America and England. “Will he be alright?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s fine,” England said, with a measured stare at Samuel, “The brat’s just exhausted. This is sleeping behavior.”

“I see,” said Samuel, not really seeing.

“Where did you fly from?”

“New Orleans.” England sucked in breath, his eyes raking over Alfred. “That is a considerable distance.” the dragon concluded, and Laurens could detect…pride in his voice? “We did stop along the way.” Laurens said, not wanting the man to think he had run the young dragon into the ground. “But we hadn’t anticipated the distance between the States and Bermuda being so great. Alfred was exhausted by the time we got close enough to even attempt landing.”

“A suicidal mission that nearly cost you your life, human. Why did America, a nation in conflict with me, come all this way to deliver a prisoner of war?” Samuel looked at America, wishing the boy was awake to answer for him. “He…saved me. We fought against each other in New Orleans. I was the captain of the _HMS_ _Thorne._ When we fought each other, he injured me, but then rescued and nursed me back to health.”

“You didn’t answer my question. I didn’t say how, I asked why.” England grumbled, a haughty look on his face. Samuel flushed. “I…reminded him of someone he knew. That is what he told me.”

“I wonder who,” England said, dryly, “If he says George Washington, I will personally execute you myself.”

Laurens didn’t know whether to laugh or be terrified. While a good judge of character, (and America an open book of emotions) it was another story to try and guess what drove this dragon’s mind. Much like his country, the Empire was an enigma. A blend of old tradition and what seemed to be touch of sarcasm.

“But now I am curious about you, Samuel Laurens,” England continued, “You are clearly a human, one of my own people, but you smell of a dragon. You can speak like we do. You move like we do.” _Well, there was no hiding anything, anyway._ “I was very badly injured, my lord. A priestess in New Orleans told Alfred to transfer his blood to me to save my life. It came with…enhancements.”

England stared at him for a moment, then his eyes went back to Alfred. “Curious... I have never heard of such a thing. I imagine you would be considered an abomination in the eyes of the Church… given that the blood of a dragon courses through you, and gives you the same instincts of a beast.”

 _Thank you for the reminder,_ Samuel thought, glumly. “I do not know if the changes are permanent, my lord.”

“I imagine they are.” England said, eyes never leaving the sleeping boy’s face. “America is no ordinary dragon.”

After filing a lengthy report and having a handsome meal, Laurens retired to bed. The next morning, he heard the cock crow, and hastily roused himself, hoping to see if Alfred had risen as well. The man made his way through a nearby courtyard of the government building, and walked through the hallways. He found the room America had been housed in was empty. A maid poked her head in, seeing his distress. “Oh, you lookin’ for the boy? He woke up in the night and was moved to the jail cell. It’s in the courtyard.”

 _Right where I walked past_ , he thought to himself crossly. Wondering why Alfred had been moved at all, he jogged through the empty hallways until he found the enclosure he was looking for. A wooden door, some bars, and he peered in, seeing America sitting on a bench. A twinge of sadness fell upon him then, feeling some sort of pity. In a reversal of fate, the dragon who had denied him justice in his own country was now facing his own.

“You can come in, “ America called, not bothering to look up from where he was staring at the floor, “I am very good at picking locks. Not like that matters.” The boy blinked, then gave a mortified expression. “Don’t tell England.”

“I can’t sneak up on you,” Laurens said, bemused, rather than shocked at this point at Alfred’s uncanny ability to know where he was. He went to the wooden door, and pushed it open, and moved into the damp cell, to stand over the young dragon. There was a pile of hay that he assumed was a semblance of a bed, and the bench America sat on.

A question lingered in his mind then. _If you can pick locks….why haven’t you left?_ But that wasn’t the question he asked. Instead, he enquired, “Where’s England?” America shrugged in response, lifting his blue eyes to look in Samuel’s own hazel. “No idea. Haven’t seen him since the ocean.”

 _That’s interesting,_ Laurens thought. Considering how the older dragon had hovered over Alfred, he had anticipated the older nation would likewise remain with America until he awoke. Or perhaps he had, and Alfred hadn’t been fully conscious for it. Who really knew? Laurens pushed on, “So, what’s to be done with you?”

“Good question.” America picked at his linen shirt. “The Soldier I saw when I woke up told me they were going to try to use me as ransom. End the war quicker. Not a bad plan.”

“Can you ransom a dragon?”

“If they let you,” America said with a smirk, twiddling his pointed nails. Samuel opened his mouth to enquire what the boy meant, but they were both interrupted by the third-party that had been carefully observing them from the opened doorway.

“I see that you’ve awakened,” a crisp voice greeted them, and the two flinched, surprised. America cast a look past Laurens to the speaker, which was of course, none other than the dragon England. He was still dressed in his fine officer’s cloak, red as America’s horns. Samuel watched as the younger dragon bit his lip, weighing his response.

“I see that you’ve….you’ve come to release me?” the youth said, hope in his voice.

England’s thick eyebrow raised over his slit green eyes,“Hmf. You’d be the eternal optimist, wouldn’t you? I have no plans of releasing you. Instead, I’ve been tasked with watching over you. You are…our _guest_ ,” Samuel sensed irritation behind England’s words. “I assume you recall the conduct of guests?”

“Interesting way of phrasing ‘our prisoner’, but sure, guest.” America said, rolling his eyes. “Well, for starters, if I really am your guest, you could start being a better host by giving me and Sam some food. We haven’t had anything decent in days.”

“You little upstart, you were raised with better manners than that!” England sputtered. America gave him a non-plussed look.

“Yeah-huh, and last time I checked, you all but knocked me out of the sky. Pardon if I’m irritable, but I’m hungry. For being raised by someone who claims to know manners, I shouldn’t have to state the obvious.”

“Why...you…you…!” England was turning red, eyes green eyes flashing with menace, “Speak to me in such a way? I’ll teach you respect again, _boy_. I shouldn’t have let you go so easily in our last encounter. In fact, I should have dragged you aboard my ship kicking and screaming!“

America rose to his feet, furious, “MORE LIKE DRAGGED A CORPSE! Without Canada you’d have killed me off, you sadist!” The two nations simultaneously bared fangs and began circling each other in the cell. Samuel wanted to slap his own face in frustration. But instead, he did something foolish- the human stepped in the middle of the hissing reptiles.

“Enough!” he bellowed, extending his hands as to divide them. “Obviously these are extraordinary circumstances, and we are still at war. But you are both well-mannered enough to be decent and act like gentlemen. Or are you merely feral beasts? Come it off, the two of you!”

Laurens gamble paid off. The two dragons froze, and then looked aside, as if embarrassed. England crossed his arms, giving a huff. America kicked an imaginary dust-pile, a slight scowl still on his face. No one wanted to admit wrong, to which Samuel did not care. At least these two idiots had stopped screaming at each other. Then, his stomach rumbled. Both dragons decided to feign concern for him.

“Captain Laurens, you are-“

“Sam, are you-“

Both dragons glared at each other, as if concern about the human’s health was their priority, rather than the other’s. Samuel Laurens really had little patience for quarrels that did not matter, and while he couldn’t hope to mediate between these two, he was far more mature than their centuries combined. He would have to play the role of damsel in distress.

“My Lord Nation, I am famished. I beseech you, accompanied by our… _guest_ … would you take us to an establishment where we could quell our hunger?” Both England and America stared at each other. The shorter dragon opened his mouth, likely to insult America again. Laurens wouldn’t let him. “And while you’re at it, my Lord, perhaps we could see the markets along the way? I noticed some when we were flying in… if it would not be such a bother?”

“I’d like too, as well.” America seconded, tilting his head to an angle. England’s hard stare softened a bit at this gesture.

“Fine! Fine. We’ll see some of the market on the way to the _Sea Witch_. It’s unavoidable. Pickpockets everywhere… not like they’d matter to the likes of I.”

“Excellent!” Laurens clapped his hands together, feeling he had won a small victory. “I particularly would like some fruit, if your Lordship would not be opposed.” The black-horned dragon shrugged in response, turning to the open door to look over his shoulder at them.

“It’s coming out of your pension,” England said, dryly, “Don’t get too excited, human.”

“Then I’m definitely getting as much as I can eat,” Alfred concluded with a delighted grin, “Laurens’ a navy captain! He’s rich!”

“Says the dragon with a mansion!” squawked the man in response.

The market had been a pleasant diversion, and Samuel got to observe not only the exotic fruits, but the local population at hand. People of every walk of life seemed to be present, all subjects of the British Empire such as himself and at least one of the dragons. The foreigner, on the other hand, was having a marvelous time trying to make friends. The local women would laugh at his attempts to impress them by balancing some fruit on his head. “Is he always this energetic?” Laurens muttered to England, who snorted in response. “Always.”

America came trotting back, looking pleased with himself.

“They gave me one, isn’t that nice of them?” America brought forth a banana, and balanced on his head, the fruit laying upside, and teetering dangerously between his two horns- nestled in the strands of wheat-blonde hair. “This is much harder than it looks-“ England snatched it off. “Hey!”

The black-horned dragon waved the fruit in front of America, smirking. “Let me simplify it for you.” The nation grinned and shoved the banana on one of America’s horns, so that it stuck- like a fruit on a stick. Laurens burst out laughing, England snickered too, and America, who feigned irritation, eventually let out a chuckle of his own.

“Very funny, Arthur.” The boy tilted his head down, attempting to free the fruit from his red horn. To Samuels’ bemusement, England gently reached over and freed the fruit, as America shook his head like an overgrown puppy, giving both the Brits an extensive smile as his long, blonde hair fringed over his brows.

“That’s your name then, like his is Alfred Jones?” Samuel asked, wryly observing his nation, who tossed the banana carelessly over his shoulder. England rolled his green eyes, to which America emphatically insisted, “Oh yes, it is!” Then the youth clapped his hands together, eyes wide. “Oh! But you need a last name too! Would you like to use Laurens? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Both England and Samuel blanched.

“No.” England grumbled. “Arthur is enough.”

Now America’s stomach growled, before the young dragon could insist further. “Those bananas aren’t enough,” he complained, “Can we go hunt?” The younger dragon looked hopefully at his former guardian; his shoulders locked back with anticipation. England sized up Laurens, but shook his head in response. “I do not think our companion would enjoy the thrill of hunting offshore quite as much as we would, America. The lad’s probably more interested in a pint and whatever meal the _Sea Witch_ can offer.”

America sighed. “I suppose you have a point. Very well. Why the _Sea Witch_?” England beckoned them with a pointed nail, and the three followed, into what looked like a dinghy pub on the corner of the marketplace.

“…Because the other pub, _Kirkland’s,_ has a sordid reputation.” England replied with a shrug as he pushed opened the brown doors to reveal the seedy pub within, “The food there, according to reports, is always burnt.”

“What kind of food does the _Sea Witch_ offer?” America scanned the room, looking at the bustle of red uniforms and half-dressed women accompanying them. He unconsciously stepped closer to England, who looked around for a place for the three to be seated. With a steady foot the black-horned dragon made a beeline for an unoccupied corner of the room, where an open booth lay inviting.

“Drink enough and it’ll be the best meal you’ve eaten,” said England with a shrug, seating himself regally on the right side of the booth, giving Samuel and Alfred the other corner to fight over. “It’s typical pub fare.” America and Samuel looked to each other, likewise shrugging, and seated themselves in the booth, pushing and shoving, until it was America in the middle.

“Now I can’t go anywhere.” he whined.

“Where are you going to go?” Samuel said, rolling his eyes. Seeing that England was distracted with whatever was on the table, (some sort of old newspaper) he had the job of flagging down a barmaid, who gave them a hesitant smile, her eyes locked on his companions’ horns. “M’lords,” she greeted, and bowed to the three seated men. For some reason she lumped Laurens in the equation of ‘otherworldly’ as well. “Would yeh care for the finest beverage this side ‘o the Atlantic?”

“Food?” America blurted, hope in his voice. She gave him a warm smile, seeing the young dragon’s infectious smile. “Cod in oil and batter, M’lord, nothing fancy, but we have ‘ah lot. You’ll not go hungry here. Should I bring you extra?”

“Oh yes, please and thank you, miss!” came the polite response. The woman curtsied, “The same for both milords?”

“Rum, if you don’t mind.” England said, still inspecting the paper. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll take a pint of ale and the cod as well,” Samuel said. He then paused her before she departed, “Not as much cod as him though.” Alfred beamed at that, showing his sharp teeth, which had the barmaid squeak and rush off.

“I like her.” declared America.

“You like her because she is bringing you food,” England muttered. “Blast. I was hoping for more recent news, but it’s nothing I don’t already know.” Instead of sharing the paper with Laurens, which would have been the polite thing to do, the dragon tossed the paper over their booth, to the consternation of whoever was sitting behind it.

“So…” America drummed his nails on the tabletop, “Arthur. What are you doing in Bermuda?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Didn’t Laurens tell you?” the younger dragon looked to the human, curious. When no answer was forthcoming, he sighed. “Well, to be honest, I wasn’t planning on staying. I just wanted to drop him off.”

“I got that part,” England grumbled, “But I would like to hear the justification of sticking your neck out for a human. Especially since it’s one of _my_ humans you abducted in the first place.”

“Well, he’s really not all that human anymore,” America countered, “So he’s not your human all the way. He’s mine too. We share blood!” As if to emphasize this, America good-naturedly grabbed Laurens ‘round the shoulder, dragging him to the middle of the booth for a half-hug. “We’re bonded!”

“I’m sure he’s thrilled,” Arthur deadpanned, watching Samuel squawk and struggle to free himself from the strong hold, “Again, _why_?”

Both America and Samuel flushed, recalling the _real_ reason why America had spared Laurens. The two gave each other conspiratorial glances, as England drummed his long nails on the table in impatience. But before America could say anything, the human found his courage.

“I remind him of George Washington!” blurted Laurens, throwing his hands up in the air. Alfred stared at him, confused, but England began to laugh mirthlessly. “So much for your extended lifespan, lad. I hope you don’t mind the feel of fangs when you are crushed between my jaws.”

“Oh don’t you start that,” Alfred chided, pointing a long nail at England, “So what if he reminds me of George? That’s a good reason to save anyone’s life.”

“You are both terrible liars,” England replied with a sneer. Thankfully, the cod and drinks were brought out at the same time, so the conversation was dropped in favor of food. The barmaid made to pour England’s rum, but the dragon simply shook his head. “Leave the bottle. And three glasses.”

“Milord,” she curtsied again. England swiped off the top of the black bottle as Laurens had seen America do, and poured himself a sizable glass. He made to pour the other two, shooting a questioning glance over to his companions. “No ‘fanks.” America said between inhales of fish.

“I’m fine with the ale.” Samuel replied, waiting for the food to cool. England shrugged, and placed the rum down on the table, and knocked back a glass. Samuel cast his gaze to the other denizens of the pub, who threw them occasional curious glances, but were mostly interested in their revelry. Many of the assembled men were in scarlet garb, which explained why Arthur’s presence wasn’t jarring to them. They likely saw the black dragon enough times to feel at ease with the horns.

Laurens finished his meal as America woofed down a second plate, ripping into a fish with gusto, “My lord, given our recent…situation…” he cast a hesitant look to America, “Do you know of any reports of the sister ships of the _Thorne_?”

America paused in eating, a sullen look crossing his face. England shrugged.

“No word yet. Not enough time has passed to relay a message all the way here, given how recent the skirmish was. But considering it was a dragon attack, I cannot imagine it was favorable.” Now England regarded America. “Even now, I find it hard to imagine you burning ships.”

America was looking more and more unhappy. “Well, if memory would serve you well, I never did want to fight.” England poured himself another glass, and knocked back that one, “Yes, I do recall that too. Somewhat of a coward you were. I remember Braddock screaming at you back in ‘55…all along that blasted expedition, which ended up being bungled anyway.”

“Pray, must thou speaketh to me this way!?” America blurted, voice becoming high-pitched. Laurens blinked at the change in vernacular, recalling those same antiquated words back from when he had been held by the very dragon, “I’ve heard you speak this way before.” England snorted, his thick eyebrows expressively lifting over his eyes in contempt, “He does it when he’s nervous.”

“Well, change the subject!” America glowered, “Or so help me, I’ll flame my way out of this pub!”

“I’d like to see you try, coward!”

“AM I?”

The dragons glared at each other, green eyes meeting blue, and they began to make that hissing noise they had made earlier in the jail cell at each other. Laurens wished then he had a dog muzzle to put on both of them, because the amount of racket they were making was attracting more attention than he felt necessary. The man wished he could sink below the table, lest the stares continue. He settled for running his hand over his face. _Two minutes can’t pass with these two going at it._ Samuel Laurens once again needed to be the adult in the situation. “Let’s talk about something else. I want to hear about Alfred’s childhood.”

“You’ve already heard that!” America grumbled, looking affronted, “I told you about that back in Louisiana.”

“Well, I heard about it from you. I’d like to hear it from a secondary source. What was America like when he was a boy?” England looked gleeful, as he raised his third glass of rum to sip away, “Did he mention he wet the bed?” America turned as red as his true form, “THAT HAPPENED ONE TIME!” he screeched, louder than an alley cat.

 _Oh Lord help me before I kill them both_. thought Laurens.

However, Laurens was to find that the tone shifted considerably when England got drunk. Instead of provoking Alfred at every turn, now the dragon seemed hell-bent on antagonizing himself. Twice Laurens and Alfred had to drag him away from the bar, as the black horned beast seemed focused on fighting someone, which wasn’t hard to do in the now packed pub. The day had worn on to early evening, so there all sorts of humans at large, some that were causing typical mischief that came with these types of establishments. Two men in particular had been caught trying to make off with coin of the British Regulars, which England thought was now some kind of plot against him.

“They’re humans, Arthur, you’ll kill them!” groused Alfred as he dragged on England’s right arm. “That’s why…there’s…police!”

“They are... hic…are sullying my good name by harassing my men, tossers!” England called, as a local constable dragged out one of the said ruffians. England snapped his teeth like a crocodile, which had the local wenches shriek and duck behind their customers.

“Nothing to do with you.” Laurens pulled on England’s left.

“They insult me!!” England bellowed, “I demand satisfaction!”

“Just sit and drink your rum,” Laurens rolled his eyes, long since past being frightened by these very dumb overgrown lizards. Finally, with combined draconic strength they strong-armed the black horned dragon into the booth, whereas Laurens shoved a glass of rum at him.

“Y’d like some?” Arthur offered. Both Alfred and Samuel shook their heads, and England knocked back his… seventh? Tenth? Was anyone counting at this point?

“How he is not dead?” whispered Laurens behind England.

“You are asking the wrong dragon,” Alfred replied.

As the evening waned on, England becoming chattier about all sorts of inane things, _(Did you know the fairies were insistent that I leave them out jam before I sailed to the Caribbean? Jam, of all things!)_ did Laurens notice something interesting. England seemed to be trying to constantly lean against Alfred, and America seemed to almost encourage this by leaning into it. But when Samuel stared too closely, America would pull away. Almost as if he did not want to reveal what Samuel suspected. That underneath their hostility, they were…

America’s teeth began to chatter. “Heavens, can we leave? It’s getting c-cold in here.”

Samuel was unaffected, but then wondered, _perhaps they are truly like reptiles and prefer heat?_ He eyed England, who was wholly flushed and unaware of the drop of temperature. _Not like he’s bothered_. “Y’not having fun?” England beleaguered America. The boy couldn’t help but sigh, “Well yes but it’s cold.”

“Th-then....then… have this...!” England rolled off his red coat, weaving in his seat to hand the fine material to the younger dragon, “And stop complaining!” To which America looked...torn between flattered and aghast at the military top that was being handed to him.

“It is rather red,” he squeaked, his face going white.

“Just put it on,” Samuel said tiredly.

America stared at the red military coat, looking flushed. “I mean…I…I mean….oh bother. Hamilton would be so mad…” but then the young dragon cast a look up to the heavens, groaned, and shrugged the thing on. It wasn’t a perfect fit, that being England was not as broad in the shoulder as America, but all things considered, a decent fit. With his red horns a near identical shade, Laurens thought America quite put together with it on. England stopped weaving in his seat and just stared. Laurens suspected the dragon felt the same.

“What!?” America’s eye began to twitch at the stares.

“Looks good,” England said, still staring unabashedly. “M-maybe… this time…you keep it on. Stay this time. You _were_ loyal. Bloody shouldn’t have left it in Boston. Why did you take it off? Why did you leave?” Now England’s voice was becoming more of a whine.

“I didn’t take it off?” America said, in confusion. England was beginning to sniff, his shoulders locked back. Laurens watched as England’s red face became redder, as he began to piece together what the nonsensical drunk was trying to say. “N’ever…n’eva shoul’ left us. Left me. Damn that Washington, damn that Lafayette, damn the whole Continental Army!” screeched England, slamming his hands down on the table. America’s face morphed into a snarl.

“Oh not this!”

“Look at the time!” Laurens said, wishing more and more he was the one drinking, “I guess we should leave!”

“You shall not insult my people!” America rose to his feet, still clad in the red coat. “Take that back!” Laurens thought it was somewhat funny the dragon was claiming this removal from England while wearing his bright red coat, but England was getting more upset.

“They mis…misled you. Ruddy failures, th’ lot of you. You were ‘appier with me. Now you rot away in your pathetic excuse of a country! You h-haven’t…any idea… how to run things prop-…properly.”

“FAILURES? HAVEN’T AN IDEA?” Alfred barked, pointing a pointed nail down at England, “If I’m any sort of failure, the reflection is on you!!” America locked his shoulders back, and pushed at Laurens, growling “You will let me go, human!” Laurens didn’t feel the need to argue, as the boy all but leapt over him, and then, with a spit, he stalked off, barking for all to hear; “I am going back to my cell, you ingrates!”

“We’ll jus’ be proper Englishmen wi’ out you!” England wailed dramatically.

“Oh god you lizards are idiots.” Laurens slapped his hand over his face.

Laurens paid the tab, (under England’s account of course) and the two British men left the pub. It wasn’t hard to trail Alfred- the boy had been in a foul temper, and a man with horns stalking through town set people nervously running about, even still when Laurens and Arthur approached them. It was easy to tell where the younger dragon had gone- the populace were babbling and pointing at the black-horned beast in identification. “I wanna see ‘Merica.” England insisted, leaning on Samuel.

“I don’t think he wants to see you,” Laurens replied, as England tossed his head against his arm, short blonde hair rubbing against Laurens’ coat like a horse nudging its rider.

“I miss ‘im.” England sniffed, and Laurens was perturbed to see tears on the dragon’s face, glittering in the dim of the evening. Feeling wholly unprepared for comforting a dragon, Laurens sighed. “Well… alright, we’ll go to see Alfred. But don’t say something stupid like you did at the pub, lest America torch the dockyard and fly off.”

“M’not.” England replied. A couple of streets later, (thankfully Samuel had a good sense of direction) and turns led them back to the complex where Alfred was being housed. America was good to his word, for when the two arrived, the night guard simply pointed over his shoulder. “Your friend went straight back to the jail cell. Looking right mad.”

“We had a bit of a rough night,” Samuel said with a shrug.

“How can I make ‘im not hate me?” England said with a whisper. The night guard looked at them, with Samuel shaking his head. He pushed England forward, the dragon half stumbling over his feet until they were in the courtyard. “Now, you are going to apologize.”

“Fer what?” England groused.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. You apologize, and I’ll be over…there….” Laurens pointed at a collective of bushes, “And if you need help, then call. But you two need to sort this out. I cannot help you.”

“Since when y’think you know more than I do?” said England, the most coherent thing he had managed in the past hour.

“I’ll once again pretend I didn’t hear that,“ Samuel replied, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from Arthur’s shoulder. The tallest man then ducked over into the bushes, to observe the hopeful reconciliation of the two dragons. England drunkenly weaved back and forth in his place, like a serpent charmed. The human watching him wanted to run a hand over his face. Who was he kidding? The nation was far too pissed to continue any sort of conversation with the boy, let alone come to any sort of terms after the row they had had. Laurens began to give up hope. But then, the black horned beast roused himself, and in a surprisingly clear voice, called to the shut door:

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and…Juliet is the sun.” England paused and swayed here for a moment. Samuel dreaded that he would topple over. But somehow, the black horned dragon continued in this madness:

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon.”

 _Shakespeare,_ Laurens thought in disbelief, _of all the things you decided to say, and you resorted to quoting Shakespeare._

The door remained shut, and Laurens thought certainly, England had soured any chance he had thought he had with Alfred. But Samuel was wrong. Within a few moments, the door creaked open, and blue eyes stared out into the darkness.

“It is my lady,” England said, “Oh, it is my….”

“For one, I am not thy lady.” America interrupted, his nervous tic coming out in full force. The taller dragon stepped out, hesitantly, and scanned the yard, as if trying to see who else was out there. “Where is Laurens?” Samuel buried himself further into the bush, hoping that England’s presence was enough to distract America from smelling out his own.

“Don’t worry ‘bou ‘im.” England slurred, stumbling forward. “C’mere.” America took a hesitant step back, but liquid courage was fueling the older nation. He wrapped himself around Alfred, while the boy’s arms remained trapped in his embrace.

“E-England…” America said, a slight hitch in his voice, “You have had too much to drink.”

“And you too little,” replied England, staring up at America. “But yes, I have.” he agreed with a sigh. The two dragons stared at each other.

“I…” England began, but then America’s face fell. “I know. You think I’m a failure.”

“I do… not.” England said quietly. “I have…taken our separation… harshly, my boy. “ And now there was a hiccup, a sniff, suggesting sadness, an old grief. “I took you, you lovely thing, and you left me. You shouldn’t have left…you….you belong to _me_. You are mine!” America laughed, a small laugh: “Yes, and you did take me then. But now, England, I give and take. I am no one’s possession.”

“You aren’t a poss…session.” England weaved again, and Laurens longed to rise and steady the man, who was trying so valiantly to maintain an aura of soberness. But America’s hands, unlike his trapped arms, had found their way onto the older man’s waist, to keep him from falling, “You’re my l…l…”

“….lady?” America finished, responding wryly. England let out a laugh, but Laurens had a suspicion he had meant to say something else. “Yes, my lady. And she….she… doth protest too much, methinks.”

“Again, with the Shakespea-mmmm!” America said as England slammed their mouths together. Laurens rose to his feet, ready to come to Alfred’s defense, but saw that the taller dragon was not…particularly resisting this reunion.

The older dragon let out a pleased hum, and the two caressed each other, mouth to mouth, making Captain Laurens feel uncomfortable as a witness to their intimacy. The full moon left them unhidden, and Lauren’s draconic instincts were on edge. He smelled that very same smell Alfred had given off that one miserable night, and his vision began to tunnel.

Laurens backed away from the two, breathing through his mouth to prevent the scent from further muddling his brain. He heard a lashing noise, and turned his attention lower, and saw… England had a tail. A tail! A black tail, and it was exposed from beneath his clothing, writhing in excitement. It lashed again, and Laurens watched as a red tail, from the darkness, joined it. The two, still interlocked in passion, intertwined their tails. England’s head turned away from Alfred’s lips and he let out a small growl. America turned his neck to the side, and England bared his teeth. With a grunt, he had sunk his fangs in the juncture of the boy’s neck, as Alfred let out a pleased moan.

Feeling an increasing sense of lust, Samuel bolted from the courtyard, running into the comfortability and sanity that was his upstairs quarters.

After lying himself down to bed, finally coming to a peaceful state of mind after the bonding he witnessed outside…. did Laurens hear a knocking at his large, French-style windows. The man blinked, wondering who and what could be so high up, and then realized: “Alfred?” _So soon?_ Given what he saw in the courtyard, he surely thought he wouldn’t hear from either dragon for several hours.

“Yes, now open your windows!” hissed the familiar voice, and Samuel quickly approached the windows, flinging them open. Alfred was crouched before him, his tan skin gleaming in the moonlight. After inspecting that yes, they were alone, did Alfred climb into the room. Laurens could still smell the spicy smell of the dragon’s pheromones, which once again began to muddle his brain.

“Where is England?” he asked, a slight slur in his voice. Alfred looked around his room for a moment, then blue eyes landed on his hazel.

“He passed out. Too much rum,” the boy said with a sigh. “I left him in my cell. Hopefully, that will buy me some extra time.” Laurens, despite feeling intense desire, realized, _He is escaping. I should stop him. But I could do nothing about it, right?_

 _No, you couldn’t._ replied the mental voice of Alfred, a slight smile on his face as he looked to the captain. Samuel shook his head, ruefully. “I suppose I will have to get used to that.”

“The more you practice, the better you will be.” Alfred said dutifully. Samuel then took another step closer to Alfred, his superior height giving him an edge over the dragon. He took a steady inhale of breath, his human rationality falling prey to his dragon instincts as the spicy scent overpowered his brain. Alfred’s shoulder, he noticed, was exposed, revealing an old scar that was enflamed. This was appealing.

Samuel dropped his head to where that mark was, and pressed his mouth, closed, along it, lips tracing the redness that lay there. Alfred began to give off a high-pitched noise. Humanity be damned, he then surged upwards, giving America a brief push of lips, and then, his tongue. America’s mouth opened responsively, and they began to duel, dragon to man, in earnest. Laurens could taste him then, feeling the fangs caressing his tongue. America didn’t taste like he thought he would. America tasted like the sea, tobacco, and rum.

_Wait a minute._

Captain Laurens realized then that before his little antic, Alfred had been in a lip-locking session with England. America tasted like England. The thought of that alone sent him in a half panic, half revulsion as he shoved the young dragon away, abruptly. Alfred stumbled, but he did not seem offended. Rather, he seemed meek, as he pulled himself to his full height, holding up his pointed nails in apology. “I’m truly sorry Laurens, I know you aren’t…particularly fond of men and beasts.“

“I am fond of you.” Laurens replied, stunning himself. Alfred’s red ears flicked, and his blue eyes became guarded. But the human could sense, at that moment, that his words had been the right thing to say. At least, there was a small smile tugging at America’s mouth. Feeling a better grip on his emotional state, he extended his hand for a shake, to break the tension in the room. Alfred’ blue eyes lighted with noticeable pleasure, and his hand met it then. The two clasped hands, Alfred’s pointed nails gently scraping against Lauren’s wrist as he vigorously shook. Both men smiled at one another, the moment of brief passion brushed past in tribute to their kinship.

“I know the war’s still on,” Alfred said, earnestness in his voice, “But when it’s over, come find me. I’ll show you more of my country. There’s so much more to see. You’ll love Boston.”

“Maybe I’ll enjoy Baltimore better next time?” he offered in response, and they both winced. “Maybe not the best thing to say.” Laurens offered in apology.

“Right…let’s avoid Baltimore.” Alfred said, awkwardly. The two fell in silence, simply staring at one another. It was obvious that both man and dragon were reflecting on their time together, their opposing sides in this war, and yet, by blood, the bond that they irrevocably shared.

“How will I find you?” Laurens asked, a softness in his voice. America gave him a genial look, his palm reaching upwards and going to cup the side of Samuel’s face.

“We are dragons. We can sense one another. When you come, I will know.” Giving his face a gentle tap with his nails, Alfred then walked past Samuel, to once again leap toward the window. Laurens looked around the room, hastily scanning one last time to see if he had a rope, or something to deter America. Some part of him did not want him to go. Perhaps, like England, he too had grown possessive over the boy. _But I am fooling myself_ , he thought. _America must be free._

America studied him from the window, but then, gave him a cheerful, fanged smile. The blue eyes glittered in the moonlight.

“To the stars, Sam. To the stars.”

Giving him a salute, the boy leapt into the darkness. Within seconds he could hear the palm trees shake in the draft of wings beating into the night. Laurens leaned out of the window, the darkness providing excellent camouflage for the shape of the large beast escaping into it. America was fast, and within seconds he was gone. Samuel, despite himself, reached out his mind, touching it with Alfred’s as he could sense the dragon gain more and more distance. _Safe journey, my friend._ America did not reply, but Laurens knew he had been heard.

Returning to bed, he sunk into the old mattress, still dressed in his evening wear. Allowing himself to drift into slumber, he recalled the soft sound of wingbeats beating away into the night sky, going to freedom. It gave him a sense of comfort.

  
“LAURENS!” bellowed a voice from the courtyard, shaking the naval captain from his comfortable repose. The man shot up from his bed, groaning and rubbing his eyes. It was early dawn, and….

_Alfred’s gone._

Stumbling over to the still open window, clothing rumpled, he looked down to see the sergeant major in the courtyard, looking for him. “Hullo, up here!” he called.

“You!” the man snarled, “Where did he go!?” Laurens, sensing that playing stupid would not win him any favors, replied, “I am to believe you are referring to America?”

“Who else, you lout!”

“Stop shouting!” snapped an irate voice from the jail cell, which upon appearance, looked to have been blasted open. It was England, and he looked terrible. His green eyes were dull and red, and his hair stuck up at odd angles, and his clothing was in disarray. Granted, the amount of rum that the dragon had consumed would have probably put a lesser man into a grave. He looked like it, too.

“Thanks to you two beasts,” snapped the sergeant major, “America is gone. Whatever ransom we could have had for his capture is left with him. We could have ended this war!” England began to laugh. The sergeant major scowled. “What is so funny?”

“You cannot contain a dragon,” the man replied, his jade green eyes, while dulled, reflected a sharp intelligence. “The brat stayed of his own free will. At any time, he could have taken to wing, and we would have been powerless to stop him.” This was not what the irate man wanted to hear. “You could have brought him back, you beasts are combatants, you would have-“

“-Chased him back to the States, only to meet the friendly greeting of American artillery. No, we dragons cannot be held. There is no prison, no chain that can contain us. Not in this century, at least.”

The sergeant major fumed, hemmed, and hawed, but Laurens sensed he was defeated. He stomped his feet, saying in bottled fury, “I’ll report this all the same. You beasts think you answer to no one. You will answer for this.”

“We _beasts,”_ England snarled with vehemence, a slight sway in his step, “Are dragons, and you should well remember that we are at the top of the food chain. Come Laurens.”

 _Did he say we?_ Laurens thought in disbelief, but he fell in a half-step behind England, and the two departed the courtyard. The human was pondering this inclusion of him, and sought to experiment. Passing through the sentry building, he briefly curled his lip at the posted soldiers, as he had seen both America and England do. The guards averted their eyes and stepped away. Laurens came to the realization of Alfred’s words: _“The more you practice, the better you will be.”_

“You are in our fraternity now, whether you like it or not,” said England, observing Laurens. The man all but fell over, wondering if England was attuned to his thoughts as well as Alfred was. “You may not transform, you may lack horns, claw, and fang, but you don’t move like a human, nor smell like one. Any one of our kind would know. Humans you might have to remind.”

And that was another frightening thought. Other dragons, other nations that Laurens might encounter. They might not take too friendly to a human with their abilities. It could set off another war. This intense thinking caused him to trip over a loose stone as they made their way out into the town.

“But you should work on your reflexes,” England chided, then winced, a pale hand going to his forehead. “Oh God, my head. Tell me, what happened last night?”

“What do you recall?” Samuel enquired, cognizant of Alfred’s motivations and feelings. His friend might not take it kindly for England to know his personal cares, despite that Samuel knew quite clearly how the young dragon felt about his former mentor, given what he had witnessed between them.

“The pub, fighting….getting into a row with America.” England must have been very hungover, as Laurens noticed his face betrayed his emotions. There was that sadness again, and Laurens knew were he to comment on it, no amount of dragon fraternity would save him from the business ends of England’s claws.

“Nothing after that?” he replied, trying to be neutral as possible.

“No.”

 _Poor Alfred_ , Samuel thought. England did not recall how the boy had fallen into his arms after his horrible recital of Shakespeare. While the older nation would probably be mortified to know how he had lured America to him, he might be secretly thrilled to know how intimate he had gotten with the young dragon. Perhaps if had not consumed so much liquor, he would have gotten further. And then Samuel’s ears reddened, as the thought of carnality between the two made him self-conscious.

“What happened, then?” England said, a slight growl in his voice. “You must have been witness; you were with us. Do not lie, I will know if you lie.”

 _How to best word this…_ Mulling this over, an important conclusion came to Samuel. If Alfred had wanted to, he could have stayed and told England _exactly_ what transpired between them. But for some reason, he hadn’t, and Samuel would respect his wishes.

“You and he…well, you exchanged words.”

“And?” England said with a noticeable pause. The shorter man had paused in the street, humans on either side of them giving a wide berth in view of his black horns. Samuel stammered on, his hand fisting into his sleeve, “I mean… you said words to one another, but it was left on friendly terms, at least what I could gather.”

“Oh…that’s all?” England looked disappointed, and his shoulders slumped. Samuel could only imagine what crossed his mind. The dragon sighed, his pointed nails going to rub his arm, as if in self-comfort. Moments passed, as they stood, man and nation, in the bustle of the crowd. The green-eyed man then shot Laurens a guarded look, as the human was staring at him unrepentantly. “What are you looking at?”

“I’ve never seen a dragon hungover, my lord.” he followed up, finding it best to distract England. At least, before the man began to prod and reveal more than what Samuel was comfortable sharing. The human knew that perhaps he could influence this fractured relationship, but the sensible part, the rational part, told him that whatever was between America and England would need to be resolved on their own.

England snorted, chasing away his thoughts, “Well, next time you imbibe enough liquor, you’ll know how a dragon _feels_ hungover.”

Laurens had to laugh at that, recalling that yes, he did. “Touché.”

England rubbed his eyes once more, and Samuel continued speaking, feeling bolder at the dragon’s sign of humanity. “My lord, I meant to ask, without a command… nor a ship, I am stationless. I wanted to ask your opinion of returning to London.“

“With your abilities?” England snorted, “Desk work? No, Captain Laurens, your life has irrevocably changed. Perhaps in another life you’d be lying in Davy Jones’ locker, but instead you live to fight another infernal day. How long that’s for is anyone’s guess. But to that, I’ve given it some thought.” Samuel did not reply, so England continued, “You are being re-assigned to my personal retinue. I sense this war is soon to end, and with a dragon of American influence on my side, I might have better terms of negotiation.”

 _You want to bribe Alfred_ , Samuel thought, but said nothing.

“Also, there is the larger world to consider. India, Australia, China, Africa… as dragons, we are needed throughout the world. It will not be safe position, nor easy. But I imagine, given your talents…you will have more successes than any mere human could hope to achieve.” Now England looked at him, a sharper expression on his face. “I do not think you expected the Navy to be a safe or easy job. This is why you shall meet my expectations. Our influence spans the globe now. To make a better world, we must rule. ”

“Rule the waves?” quipped Laurens.

England gave a fanged smirk. “Precisely. What say you?”

Samuel Laurens looked to his hands, thinking that through his blood coursed the very same fire that fueled these beasts… and how with that power came the responsibility to use it wisely. Perhaps with Catherine he’d not had a chance. But that rejection had led him to this position of influence. He’d be a fool not to accept a hand in governing world affairs. Now he could change history serving England, rather fulfill life a simple cobbler as he had thought all those years ago. A man of the Royal navy with the power of a dragon, helping regulate the world. And in ruling the world, perhaps, he could make it one where America would willingly stay with them. 

He looked up with slitted pupils. “Shall we begin?”


End file.
